“There.”
She takes a step back, her rapist hand pulling out of my gaping chest. I choke on my blood, on my breaths, on pain and euphoria. Shivers wrack my body. I don’t want to see any more of my misery, but I force my eyes to open. Just in time to see Jaga lick the last of my blood off her fingers.
“It feels like enough.”
Her eyes are deep and dark as she watches me. I don’t try to speak. Something within me is broken. Something’s lost.
“I’ll leave you here to contemplate,” she whispers, walking backward.
I stir at that. I think I should beg her. The idea of hanging here, in these ropes I cannot break, exposed for anyone to violate me just like she did, is a torture in and of itself.
But Jaga’s gone before I muster the right words.
Chapter fourteen
Beg
I watch my throne room, the beautiful gems sparkling prisms in the light of the fires, and breathe. My heart throbs, making wet, laboring sounds. It feels like days have passed since Jaga left me here, though I know it can’t be more than a few hours.
I don’t think she’s coming back.
Whatever she did to me prevents me from calling for help. I tried summoning Nyja and Chors, the only people I can stand seeing me like this, but nobody came. The throne room is perfectly quiet, and Jaga is probably far away by now.
I lost her. Serves me right.
When the door on the far side clangs open, I don’t bother lifting my head. My body aches, and every move fuels the pain.
It’s my first time suffering like this as Woland. Weles possesses a degree of humility, an enjoyment of pain and debasement that gives him satisfaction, sometimes sexual. As Woland, I enjoy inflicting pain rather than receiving it—unless it’s from Jaga’s hand, as I learned today.
I wish she was here.
“Now, that’s something I never thought I’d see.”
My head jerks up, my lips parting with effort. The dried crust over my wounds breaks up, and fresh blood trickles down my chin.
“You! But how…”
Each word burns my lips, but I have to know. She has no right to be here.
“So inarticulate and tedious. I expect better from you.”
Mokosz smiles her most beatific smile, turning in place until her rich blue skirts twirl prettily. My heart hammers faster and faster with shameful, smacking sounds, revealing my terror even as I strain to hide it.
“You can’t be here.”
“Oh, pish. I can do anything I want. Unlike you, it seems. Poor Woland. Need a hand?”
Her smile is sly, the palm extended toward my heart soft and easy, but her eyes gleam with a cruel light.
The full meaning of this calamity drowns my thoughts. Something must have happened up there. Did Perun attack us while I was bound and helpless? Did Nawie fall? Or—no, no, no, fuck no, please—did Jaga do what she threatened me with so many times?
Did she give her soul tohim?
“What happened?” I force out through my tight throat.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Mokosz grins and turns away, conjuring a large mirror that hovers in the air, reflecting her face and bosom. She smiles, tilting her head this way and that as she fusses with her hair. I watch it with mounting horror.
